Asimov's Future History Volume 4 (8 page)

“Specifically, though, your disturbance is due to a clash between motivations within you. On the one hand your devotion to the principles of your profession urges you to look deeply ‘into this conspiracy of Earthmen who lay siege to us last night. Another motivation, equally strong, forces you in the opposite direction. This much is cleanly written in the electric field of your cerebral cells.”

“My cerebral cells,
nuts
,” said Baley, feverishly. “Look, I’ll tell you why there’s no point in investigating your so-called conspiracy. It has nothing to do with the murder. I thought it might have. I’ll admit that. Yesterday in the kitchen, I thought we were in danger. But what happened? They followed us out, were quickly lost on the strips, and that was that. That was not the action of well-organized and desperate men.

“My own son found out where we were staying easily enough. He called the Department. He didn’t even have to identify himself. Our precious conspirators could have done the same if they had really wanted to hurt us.”

“Didn’t they?”

“Obviously not. If they had wanted riots, they could have started one at the shoe counter, and yet they backed out tamely enough before one man and a blaster. One
robot
, and a blaster which they must have known you would be unable to fire once they recognized what you were. They’re Medievalists. They’re harmless crackpots. You wouldn’t know that, but I should have. And I would have, if it weren’t for the fact that this whole business has me thinking in–in foolish melodramatic terms.

“I tell you I know the type of people that become Medievalists. They’re soft, dreamy people who find life too hard for them here and get lost in an ideal world of the past that never really existed. If you could cerebroanalyze a movement as you do an individual, you would find they are no more capable of murder than Julius Enderby himself.”

R. Daneel said slowly, “I cannot accept your statements at face value.”

“What do you mean?”

“Your conversion to this view is too sudden. There are certain discrepancies, too. You arranged the appointment with Dr. Gerrigel hours before the evening meal. You did not know of my food sac then and could not have suspected me as the murderer. Why
did
you call him, then?”

“I suspected you even then.”

“And last night you spoke as you slept.”

Baley’s eyes widened. “What did I say?”

“Merely the one word ‘Jessie’ several times repeated. I believe you were referring to your wife.”

Baley let his tight muscles loosen. He said, shakily, “I had a nightmare. Do you know what that is?”

“I do not know by personal experience, of course. The dictionary definition has it that it is a bad dream.”

“And do you know what a dream is?”

“Again, the dictionary definition only. It is an illusion of reality experienced during the temporary suspension of conscious thought which you call sheep.”

“All right. I’ll buy that. An illusion. Sometimes the illusions can seem damned real. Well, I dreamed my wife was in danger. It’s the sort of dream people often have. I called her name. That happens under such circumstances, too. You can take my word for it.”

“I am only too glad to do so. But it brings up a thought. How did Jessie find out I was a robot?”

Baley’s forehead went moist again. “We’re not going into that again, are we? The rumor–”

“I am sorry to interrupt, partner Elijah, but there is no rumor. If there were, the City would be alive with unrest today. I have checked reports coming into the Department and this is not so. There simply is no rumor. Therefore, how did your wife find out?”

“Jehoshaphat! What are you trying to say? Do you think my wife is one of the members of–of...”

“Yes, Elijah.”

Baley gripped his hands together tightly. “Well, she isn’t, and we won’t discuss that point any further.”

“This is not like you, Elijah. In the course of duty, you accused me of murder twice.”

“And is this your way of getting even?”

“I am not sure I understand what you mean by the phrase. Certainly, I approve your readiness to suspect me. You had your reasons.

They were wrong, but they might easily have been right. Equally strong evidence points to your wife.”

“As a murderess? Why, damn you, Jessie wouldn’t hurt her worst enemy. She couldn’t set foot outside the City. She couldn’t..–Why, if you were flesh and blood I’d–”

“I merely say that she is a member of the conspiracy. I say that she should be questioned.”

“Not on your life. Not on whatever it is you call your life. Now, listen to me. The Medievalists aren’t after our blood. It’s not the way they do things. But they are trying to get you out of the City. That much is obvious. And they’re trying to do it by a kind of psychological attack. They’re trying to make life unpleasant for you and for me, since I’m with you. They could easily have found out Jessie was my wife, and it was an obvious move for them to let the news leak to her. She’s like any other human being. She doesn’t
like
robots. She wouldn’t want me to associate with one, especially if she thought it involved danger, and surely they would imply that. I tell you it worked. She begged all night to have me abandon the case or to get you out of the City somehow.”

“Presumably,” said R. Daneel, “you have a very strong urge to protect your wife against questioning. It seems obvious to me that you are constructing this line of argument without really believing it.”

“What the hell do you think you are?” ground out Baley. “You’re not a detective. You’re a cerebroanalysis machine like the electroencephalographs we have in this building. You’ve got arms, legs, a head, and can talk, but you’re not one inch more than that machine. Putting a lousy circuit into you doesn’t make you a detective, so what do you know? You keep your mouth shut, and let me do the figuring out.”

The robot said quietly, “I think it would be better if you lowered your voice, Elijah. Granted that I am not a detective in the sense that you are, I would still like to bring one small item to your attention.”

“I’m not interested in listening.”

“Please do. If I am wrong, you will tell me so, and it will do no harm. It is only this. Last night you left our room to call Jessie by corridor phone. I suggested that your son go in your place. You told me it was not the custom among Earthmen for a father to send his son into danger. Is it then the custom for a mother to do so?”

“No, of cour–” began Baley, and stopped.

“You see my point,” said R. Daneel. “Ordinarily, if Jessie feared for your safety and wished to warn you, she would risk hen own life,
not
send her son. The fact that she did send Bentley could only mean that she felt that he would be safe while she herself would not. If the conspiracy consisted of people unknown to Jessie, that would not be the case, or at least she would have no reason to think it to be the case. On the other hand, if she were a member of the conspiracy, she would know, she would
know
, Elijah, that she would be watched for and recognized, whereas Bentley might get through unnoticed.”

“Wait now,” said Baley, sick at heart, “that’s feather-fine reasoning,

There was no need to wait. The signal on the Commissioner’s desk was flickering madly. R. Daneel waited for Baley to answer, but the latter could only stare at it helplessly. The robot closed contact.

“What is it?”

R. Sammy’s slurring voice said, “There is a lady here who wishes to see Lije. I told hen he was busy, but she will not go away. She says her name is Jessie.”

“Let her in,” said R. Daneel calmly, and his brown eyes rose unemotionally to meet the panicky glare of Baley’s.

14: Power of a Name

B
ALEY
REMAINED
STANDING
in a tetany of shock, as Jessie ran to him, seizing his shoulders, huddling close.

His pale lips formed the word, “Bentley?”

She looked at him and shook her head, her brown hair flying with the force of her motion. “He’s all right.”

“Well, then...”

Jessie said through a sudden torrent of sobs, in a low voice that could scarcely be made out, “I can’t go on, Lije. I can’t. I can’t sleep or eat. I’ve got to tell you.”

“Don’t say anything,” Baley said in anguish. “For God’s sake, Jessie, not now.”

“I must. I’ve done a terrible thing. Such a terrible thing. Oh, Lije...” She lapsed into incoherence.

Baley said, hopelessly, “We’re not alone, Jessie.”

She looked up and stared at R. Daneel with no signs of recognition. The tears in which her eyes were swimming might easily be refracting the robot into a featureless blur.

R. Daneel said in a low murmur, “Good afternoon, Jessie.”

She gasped. “Is it the–the robot?”

She dashed the back of her hand across her eyes and stepped out of Baley’s encircling right arm. She breathed deeply and, for a moment, a tremulous smile wavered on her lips. “It
is
you, isn’t it?”

“Yes, Jessie.”

“You don’t mind being called a robot?”

“No, Jessie. It is what I am.”

“And I don’t mind being called a fool and an idiot and a–a subversive agent, because it’s what I am.”

“Jessie!” groaned Baley.

“It’s no use, Lije,” she said. “He might as well know if he’s your partner. I can’t live with it any more. I’ve had such a time since yesterday. I don’t care if I go to jail. I don’t care if they send me down to the lowest levels and make me live on raw yeast and water. I don’t cane if... You won’t let them, will you, Lije? Don’t let them do anything to me. I’m fuh-frightened.”

Baley patted her shoulder and let her cry.

He said to R. Daneel. “She isn’t well. We can’t keep her here. What time is it?”

R. Daneel said without any visible signs of consulting a timepiece, “Fourteen-forty-five.”

“The Commissioner could be back any minute. Look, commandeer a squad car and we can talk about this in the motorway.”

Jessie’s head jerked upright. “The motorway? Oh, no, Lije.”

He said, in as soothing a tone as he could manage, “Now, Jessie, don’t be superstitious. You can’t go on the expressway the way you are. Be a good girl and calm down or we won’t even be able to go through the common room. I’ll get you some water.”

She wiped her face with a damp handkerchief and said drearily, “Oh, look at my makeup.”

“Don’t worry about your makeup,” said Baley. “Daneel, what about the squad car?”

“It’s waiting for us now, partner Elijah.”

“Come on, Jessie.”

“Wait. Wait just a minute, Lije. I’ve got to do something to my face.”

“It doesn’t matter now.”

But she twisted away. “Please. I can’t go through the common room like this. I won’t take a second.”

The man and the robot waited, the man with little jerky clenchings of his fists, the robot impassively.

Jessie rummaged through her purse for the necessary equipment. (If there were one thing, Baley had once said solemnly, that had resisted mechanical improvement since Medieval times, it was a woman’s purse. Even the substitution of magnetic clotures for metal clasps had not proven successful.) Jessie pulled out a small mirror and the silver-chased cosmetokit that Baley had bought her on the occasion of three birthdays before.

The cosmetokit had several orifices and she used each in turn. All but the last spray were invisible. She used them with that fineness of touch and delicacy of control that seems to be the birthright of women even at times of the greatest stress.

The base went on first in a smooth even layer that removed all shininess and roughness from the skin and left it with the faintly golden glow which long experience had taught Jessie was just the shade most suited to the natural coloring of hen hair and eyes. Then the touch of tan along the forehead and chin, a gentle brush of rouge on either cheek, tracing back to the angle of the jaw; and a delicate drift of blue on the upper eyelids and along the earlobes. Finally there was the application of the smooth carmine to the lips. That involved the one visible spray, a faintly pink mist that glistened liquidly in air, but dried and deepened richly on contact with the lips.

“There,” said Jessie, with several swift pats at her hair and a look of deep dissatisfaction. “I suppose that will do.”

The process had taken more than the promised second, but less than fifteen seconds. Nevertheless, it had seemed interminable to Baley.

“Come,” he said.

She barely had time to return the cosmetokit to the purse before he had pushed her through the door.

The eerie silence of the motorway lay thick on either side.

Baley said, “All right, Jessie.”

The impassivity that had covered Jessie’s face since they first heft the Commissioner’s office showed signs of cracking. She looked at her husband and at Daneel with a helpless silence.

Baley said, “Get it over with, Jessie. Please. Have you committed a crime? An actual crime?”

“A crime?” She shook her head uncertainly.

“Now hold on to yourself. No hysterics. Just say yes or no, Jessie. Have you–” he hesitated a trifle, “killed anyone?”

The look on Jessie’s face was promptly transmuted to indignation. “Why, Lije Baley!”

“Yes or no, Jessie.”

“No, of course not.”

The hard knot in Baley’s stomach softened perceptibly. “Have you stolen anything? Falsified ration data? Assaulted anyone? Destroyed property? Speak up, Jessie.”

“I haven’t done anything–anything specific. I didn’t mean anything like that.” She looked over her shoulder. “Lije, do we have to stay down here?”

“Right here until this is over. Now, start at the beginning. What did you come to tell us?” Over Jessie’s bowed head, Baley’s eyes met R. Daneel’s.

Jessie spoke in a soft voice that gained in strength and articulateness as she went on.

“It’s these people, these Medievalists;
you
know, Lije. They’re always around, always talking. Even in the old days when I was an assistant dietitian, it was like that. Remember Elizabeth Thornbowe? She was a Medievalist. She was always talking about how all our troubles came from the City and how things were better before the Cities started.